


Freed

by bluehawthorn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Bard's POV, Barduil - Freeform, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erebor, M/M, Mirkwood, Oral Sex, Rebuilding after War, Slash, Smut, Thorin Oakenshield's Funeral, Throne Sex, elven magic, sexual healing, the woodland realm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-29 06:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6362926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehawthorn/pseuds/bluehawthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the long night between Thorin Oakenshield's funeral and the coronation of Dain as the new King Under the Mountain, Bard and Thranduil turn to each other for company and comfort. Something begins between them in the haunted hallways of Erebor that is later consummated in the Woodland Realm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Erebor

**Author's Note:**

> The angsty-feely Barduil smut I've been needing to write for a long time.

It has been a long, sad day. Not able to stand the confinement of the mountain one moment longer, Bard is walking outside the gates of Erebor under a sky strewn with stars and illuminated by a bright half moon. 

He is here for the funeral of Thorin Oakenshield and his two nephews. He longs to return to his people who are still camped in Dale, slowly rebuilding the city out of ruins. But he is expected to spend the night as an envoy, and cannot leave until after Dain's Coronation the next day as the new King Under the Mountain.

The bodies of the orcs and trolls killed in the battle have been moved painstakingly outside the city walls of Dale by men and dwarves and elves working together. They were set alight yesterday in a huge pyre which he can still see smouldering in the distance. 

At least he is grateful that he is away from that noxious smoke and he hopes the winds are carrying them away from what remains of his people. His children are inside the mountain sleeping, exhausted from the events of the last few weeks, and he is glad they are also safe from the fumes.

Suddenly he hears a faint movement behind him and snaps to alertness, spinning to find its source. He rounds on Thranduil, who glides toward him in long robes shimmering like moonlight.

He can also see two other elves off a ways in the distance discreetly following their king. He is sure that the noise the elvenking made was intentional and that they are all three only visible now because they have chosen to be. He knows well enough the ability of elves to move undetected through the darkness.

"My apologies. I did not mean to startle you."

Bard nods in acknowledgement and falls into step at Thranduil's side. They have spent much time together over the past fortnight and a quiet camaraderie has grown between them. He has even come to like the elvenking despite his often cold and arrogant cast.

They walk silently for a few moments, surveying the vast plains that spread out around them. Mirkwood is visible in the far distance, a shadow on the horizon. Things have been cleaned up since the battle and a fresh layer of snow lies on the ground, but the land between here and Thranduil's forest kingdom still smells like blood.

Bard shakes his head. "So much wasted death."

"Yes," intones Thranduil in that deep musical voice that until he grew accustomed to it, sounded almost alien to Bard's ear.

"What happens now?" he asks, genuinely curious to hear what Thranduil, with all his many centuries behind him, will say. Surely he has seen many battles and what comes after.

"Now we mourn and rebuild and life continues."

Bard folds his hands behind his back and bows his head with the heaviness of what has come to pass. They are silent again for a time.

Eventually Thranduil straightens to his full height and without looking at Bard says, "And now you accompany me back to my chambers so that we can share some wine."

There is more warmth in Thranduil's voice than it usually holds, but he also brooks no argument. He never does.

Bard considers whether he should return to his children, but knows that the dwarves have set a guard outside their door and trusts that they are safe. It really has been a long, sad day after many long, sad days. Perhaps wine would help. And he does not particularly want to be alone with his thoughts.

He follows as Thranduil turns back towards the mountain. He senses the other elves in the distance, giving them space but watching for any threat to their king.

They reenter through the gates, nodding to the dwarves who stand solemnly on duty through this long night between the funeral of their former king and the crowning of their new one. It all pinches at Bard's heart and he draws in a deep sigh.

Thranduil leads him through the dark corridors to his guest chambers. His guards are closer now and they move to stand on either side of the doors as Thranduil walks through them, Bard following behind.

Bard smiles as he enters to see that Thranduil's room is hung with elaborate tapestry and rich fabrics. The mountain has not been restored to anything like its former glory, but there is a new bed in this room and everything is polished to a high gleam. 

There are vases of flowers on wooden tables and the room smells lush and sweet. It is well lit by candles and lamps that fill the room with a golden glow. He recognizes some items from Thranduil's war tent, but the rest must have been bright from Mirkwood more recently.

Thranduil sees him gazing around and says, "Ah, yes, I had my people...improve things. I cannot abide all the cold rock of this mountain. I find it suffocating."

Bard understands. Despite also living in an underground palace, Thranduil's is airy and bright. Erebor is dark and foreboding, especially after so many years of lying empty. The dwarves will no doubt have it cleaned out and refurnished in no time, but for now the place feels haunted. Thranduil's room is a respite.

Thranduil pours them both some wine from a decanter and hands him a glass. Bard takes a sip and finds himself smiling again. 

The wine is delicate and floral and probably a vintage he delivered to the Woodland Realm himself, long before he could have even imagined the events that have taken place in the past month. He takes a moment to wonder at how completely things have changed. 

His barge most likely burned in the fires of Smaug and even if it had survived he doubts he would have time to use it now that he must step into a new role of leadership for his people.

It saddens him in a way and frightens him a little too. Mostly though he has been too tired to feel much more than a sense of grim determination. 

Although the wine is now seeping slowly into his limbs and things feel a bit brighter and softer for it. He is glad Thranduil asked him here.

He looks up from his reverie and notices that the elvenking is watching him. Suddenly self-conscious, he moves to sit down at a small but elaborately carved table in the corner opposite the bed and drinks more of his wine.

After a time he speaks again, needing to put words to all that he has seen. "You lay the sword Orcrist to rest with Thorin." It is phrased as a statement but is also a question. 

Thranduil senses this. "Despite the sickness in his lineage and his hatred for my people, Thorin Oakenshield was also a brave warrior and a strong leader. He deserved to be honoured."

Thranduil seems almost matter of fact in his explanation, but Bard's esteem for him rises. He is indeed more thoughtful than he appears.

Bard scrubs a hand over his face. "I respected him too. Admired him even. I would never have wanted things to end like this."

"Nor I," says Thranduil. "I was prepared to use force here but imagined it would be bloodless."

Bard is glad to hear Thranduil say this. He does not want to think the elvenking unfeeling.

He watches Thranduil for a moment as he crosses the room and sits down across from him at the table. After a time he continues. "Through everything, I was completely terrified for my children. They all survived, but... Thorin and his nephews. I wonder how my whole family could survive and all of his is gone.

Not long ago they were all in my house and now... I know I should be angry at him for waking the dragon and for denying us our rightful share of the riches in the mountain, but..."

His voice is growing tight and he takes a deep breath to loosen it. "They say he saw Fili die. And I am not sure what is worse - that he also knew Kili had been killed or that he thought Kili still lived to carry on his line and take the throne."

It is all just too much. So many dead. His town destroyed. A kingdom in ruins. All the growing evil in the world, including that festering nearby in Thranduil's own kingdom.

He is so tired. He rests his head in one of his hands, placing his wineglass on the table. 

A few moments pass and then Thranduil's hand is at his jaw, his fingers skimming over his cheek. Bard looks up into the elvenking's face and realizes that he is wiping away tears.

He had not even known he was crying. He has not cried since his wife died. 

He is just so tired.

"We all lose everything in the end. Some of us simply do it over longer spans of time." Thranduil's voice is gentle and laced with sorrow. Bard remembers that he too has lost a wife.

He withdraws his hand from Bard's face and stands. "Come." 

Thranduil holds out his hand and Bard is too exhausted to do anything other than take it. The elvenking leads him to the bed and gestures for Bard to climb into it. He obeys.

Thranduil follows, his every movement spare and graceful. He lies on his side next to Bard, leaning on one elbow and laying his other hand lightly on Bard's chest.

It feels pleasant and warm. Bard is unsure of Thranduil's intent although any unease is subsumed in his fatigue. 

The weight of the elvenking's hand is like a balm to his weary spirit. He decides to lay still and accept whatever comfort is offered. It is nice even to simply have someone lie beside him after so long laying alone.

Then suddenly there is a surge of energy rushing from Thranduil's fingertips into Bard's body. Bard's lips part and his head tips back as it pulses through him like a flash flood.

Thranduil flexes his fingers and the energy waivers and then steadies, streaming into him with growing force. Bard gasps.

It is cold and hot at the same time, swirling through him like rapids through a rock strewn canyon. He can do nothing but surrender to it. It is too powerful and too unexpected to be resisted.

It goes on for what could be minutes or hours, he cannot tell. He only knows that feels as though some old grief has come loose inside him. It is as though some stuck, hardened deposit of old pain cracks open and Thranduil's energy pours in to fill it. 

Something unfurls in him. It is so intense that it takes his breath away but it is also exhilarating. 

And arousing. Parts of him that have been lying dormant seem to be waking up and with them a sense of longing that sings through him and hardens his cock.

He arches beneath Thranduil's hand, saying his name in a hoarse whisper between attempts to get enough air into his lungs. Thranduil sways closer and Bard thinks maybe he can feel it too. 

Bard reaches for the elf, wanting this feeling to end but also never to end. He is desperate for something to fulfill the yearning pressing against his ribcage. "Please."

Thranduil leans over and his hand trails down lower over Bard's stomach, eventually coming to rest against the bulge in his trousers. It is almost as though it has been guided there.

He finds himself moaning and cannot make himself stop. The energy is still flowing from Thranduil's hand only now it courses through his manhood and outward into the rest of him. Desire flares through him, hot and thick.

Thranduil applies some pressure and Bard groans again. He searches the elvenking's face almost frantically, unable to make sense of what is happening, flayed open with lust and a myriad other feelings he cannot name.

He thinks vaguely, in the small part of his brain still able to think, that Thranduil looks almost uncertain. Which cannot be true. He is never uncertain. And this is all happening very fast, but it also feels very _right_. 

"Please," he says again and this time something breaks in Thranduil's face. He looks fierce and vulnerable at the same time and then he is kissing Bard and Bard kisses him back, lifting part way up off the bed. 

Thranduil is holding back though, he can feel it. Bard whimpers in frustration, needing more. 

He presses up into the elf, needing to be close, needing his touch, _needing _. Thranduil's breath is deepening now, his control slipping. Bard nips at his lower lip and then he can feel the elf's hand tighten over his cock and the moment when he succumbs fully to the kiss.__

Thranduil's tongue is in his mouth, their breaths mingling. His hand is kneading at Bard's cock. Their bodies are moving in tandem like they are riding on the wave of this energy together. 

And it is peaking, answering something deep inside Bard that has been asleep for too long and now is surfacing into the light with great force, heaving up into the air, unstoppable.

He is on fire with it. His hand is in the elvenking's beautiful long hair, and then against the back of his neck, pulling him down into an embrace.

He is straining into Thranduil's hand. A climax is building there but also through his whole body. It is almost unbearable in its power. He can hear himself making noises that sound born of both pleasure and pain, some of which Thranduil leans down to catch in his mouth.

And then he is seizing, a torrent of feeling tearing through him. It is ripping him apart and putting him back together at the same time. 

Thranduil is watching him, a look of puzzlement and desire on his face. Bard says his name again as though it is the only thing he has to hang onto in this blaze of sensation. Thranduil answers him with another kiss, which Bard meets with utter desperation.

It is like dragonfire, uncontainable, but he welcomes it at the same time that it melts the flesh from his bones. It goes on and on, and he is shouting in a mix of excruciation and exaltation, gripping a fistful of Thranduil's robes in one hand and the bed linens in the other.

It burns everything away and leaves him satiated beyond anything he has felt before. He falls back to the bed, his muscles untensing slowly as the energy loosens its grip. He is sweating and trembling.

He feels reborn.

He also feels a wetness against the elvenking's hand and registers somewhere in his mind that this was, in fact, an orgasm. But it was also so much more.

Bard is panting for breath, his eyes still fluttering beneath their lids. Eventually, he gathers his wits just enough to ask, incredulous, "What was that?"

Thranduil does not speak right away, but when he does he says, "I possess a little of the healing magic of my people. I feel it surface when someone is in great need." 

"Is it always like that?"

"No. It is always different. The energy responds to the needs of the person it is offered to as well as the guidance of the person offering it and the relationship between them."

"And that last part?"

Thranduil looks uncertain again. He hesitates for a long moment before he speaks. "An unintended consequence. Your soul was....hungry. And the energy....responded."

The elvenking looks at Bard for a moment and then continues. "And perhaps something has grown between us this last while that we were not entirely aware of. Had I understood I would never have done what I did. I am sorry. I should have shown more restraint."

"Do not be sorry. That was..." At a loss for words he reaches for Thranduil again, tries to pull him close. He wants to offer him something back after this tremendous thing has been to given to him and so he says as much.

Thranduil shrugs him away with the ease of superior strength. "No. It is a violation of the healing to use it to fulfill ones' own needs. I am happy I could assist you in this way, but for now it must be done."

Thranduil leaves the bed and walks across the room to refill his wine. Bard feels bereft, but his heart catches on two words and he speaks them out loud as a question "For now?"

Thranduil turns and his face is back to its usual calm composure. But then he falters again as their eyes meet. 

He draws in a long breath. "If...if after time passes, you still wish to further explore this thing between us, come to me in The Woodland Realm."

His voice grows more commanding as though he is rediscovering his surety. "But you must wait at least a full turning of the moon. Consider that it is no small thing to entangle the life of a mortal with one of my kind. It happens rarely for good reason. Be sure."

Bard nods to show that he understands. 

"Now I must ask you to return to your own chambers." 

Bard stands and smoothes his rumpled clothing. He realizes that he has not even removed his jacket nor has Thranduil removed his ceremonial robes. He pulls his jacket closed to cover the stain on his pants.

As he turns toward the door, Thranduil speaks again. "I am honoured to have spent this time with you, King of Dale. Be well."

It is an unexpected title and one that he does not want but expects will be thrust upon him soon enough. In some way it is easier hearing it first from Thranduil. 

Bard bows his head in respect, and says, "The honour is mine. Thank you Lord Thranduil."

Bard opens the door and passes between the two guards. He paces down the corridor in the direction of his own rooms, grateful that he has an innate sense of direction with which to find his way back. 

His mind skids over the last hour, day, weeks. Some part of him is reeling, but the rest is somehow very calm.

Energy continues to course through his body. It has been a long, sad day. But he is no longer tired. Rather, he feels freed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments welcomed and appreciated.


	2. The Woodland Realm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter plays around with some of the elf-family feels (ie. Legolas and Tauriel are still/back in the Woodland Realm - see the comments for more on this) and also includes a slight variation on a kink meme prompt (which I'll post at the end) for fun.

The days pass. The moon waxes and then wanes and then swells halfway to fullness again, and with it, Bards desire for Thranduil only grows.

He spends his days rebuilding the city and the lives of his people and his nights straining against his sheets, stroking himself in an agony of wanting. Whatever Thranduil has awakened in him is an insatiable thing. 

It has also given him a vast reservoir of new energy, just when he needed it most. It is a tremendous gift despite the maddening craving in it.

But even with Thranduil shadowing his thoughts incessantly, Bard also remembers his parting words: be sure. He researches the old stories. There are only a few that tell of humans with elven lovers, all of them tragic. They are a warning he knows he should heed.

But the moon rounds to full once more and he cannot bear it any longer. He has known enough tragedy in his life to no longer fear it as he once did. And at least life should also hold some joy, he tells himself, reckless though it may be.

He asks one of the town mothers to care for his children, takes the fastest mount from their stable and sets off alone for Mirkwood.

He arrives in the thick blue of dusk. The guards recognize him as he had hoped they would and although he is offered refreshment and a place to wash, he asks to be accompanied immediately to Thranduil. 

The two elves who flank him bow to Thranduil as they enter the vast hall that holds his throne. The elvenking lounges far above them, crowned with autumn leaves and berries. He is even more magnificent than Bard remembers. Perhaps because he has never seen him here, in this room at the center of his rule.

He straightens and his face brightens when he sees Bard. He waves a hand at the two elves who entered with him and the others who are stationed about the room, including a red haired pretty one who was obviously in the middle of reporting to him. "Leave us."

All of them bow and stride gracefully out of the room, although the red haired female bears a tightness in her jaw. When they are alone, Thranduil leans forward in his throne and says, his voice guarded but eyes flashing with interest, "You came."

Bard replies just as simply, "I did."

"You have considered?"

"I have."

"And?"

"I am here."

Thranduil smiles and he looks younger and more human than Bard has ever seen him look before. "So you are," he replies.

He makes to rise from his throne as though to descend the steps. Bard shakes his head and begins to climb toward him instead. When he reaches the top he pauses before the throne.

Thranduil stares at him, his eyes darkened and face flushed. His lips are parted and his breath is just the slightest bit quick. Bard swells in satisfaction knowing that for Thranduil this is the equivalent of appearing wrecked with desire. He is relieved to know that the feeling is mutual. 

He steps forward and lifts his knee to one side of Thranduil, and then places the other so that he is straddling him in his throne. Thranduil's hands come up along the side of Bard's thighs.

They look at each other for a moment, their breath syncing, and then their mouths are crashing into each other. All the pent up lust of the time since they were last together surfaces in that kiss, making it nearly violent.

They are tangled together, one creature with many grasping limbs. Bard nuzzles at one of Thranduil's pointed ears, tracing the delicate line of it with his lips and tongue. Thranduil cries out and presses up into him. _Yes _, he thinks, thrilled. He wants so badly to please Thranduil after what happened in Erebor.__

He grinds himself down into Thranduil's lap; can feel the growing hardness of the elf's erection. His own is already pressing against the constraints of his trousers. 

They kiss again, Thranduil's long neck stretched so that he can pillage Bard's mouth with his tongue. He is not holding back this time. 

Bard pauses to catch his breath. Then he climbs down off of Thranduil and kneels in front of him. Grasping Bard's intention, Thranduil pins him in place with a smouldering look while he removes his crown and undoes the clasps along the front of his robes so that they fall open.

The smooth golden expanse of Thranduil's torso is revealed to him for the first time. Bard takes a moment to marvel at his beauty. Then he traces his hands over it feeling soft skin, the elegant slope of muscle, the lovely shape of bone beneath it.

"Mmmmm," a warm sound leaves him and Thranduil simply leans back and allows himself to be appreciated. Bard smiles inwardly, thinking how Thranduil has had millennia to get used to being worshipped.

Bard ventures a tongue against Thranduil's navel. When the elvenking replies with a murmur of pleasure, his eyes closing and head resting back against his throne, he begins to explore in earnest.

He traces the curve of Thranduil's ribs and the planes of his chest, leaving a path of wetness in his wake. He brushes his lips over pert brown nipples and delicate collarbones, growing more ardent with each passing minute. 

He trails downward again, teasing along the waist of Thranduil's tights, pulling them down just the slightest bit to bite at his hipbones and lave his tongue along his lower belly.

Thranduil arches and draws in a sharp breath. Unable to wait any longer, Bard reaches in and pulls out his cock, which is long and gently curved and just as lovely as the rest of him.

He draws it back into his mouth, hearing Thranduil's breath leave him in a hiss. He begins sucking, his cheeks hollowing and his jaw flexing around the elvenking's girth. 

He grips it tight between his tongue and palette, letting the slick wetness of his mouth slide up and down the length of it. Now and then he sweeps his tongue back and forth around the head or grazes the shaft gently with his teeth.

Thranduil tangles a hand in his hair but remains relaxed, soaking up Bard's ministrations in his unhurried, self assured way. After a few moments though, Bard can feel the tension in his body begin to grow. Eventually Thranduil stops him with a firm hand on his jaw. 

Bard pulls off Thranduil's cock and looks up at him. The corner of Thranduil's sensual mouth, swollen with arousal, crooks up into a small smile. "Get undressed."

Bard wipes a hand across his mouth and stands. He does as he is told, removing first his long jacket, then his tunic and finally his boots and trousers. He drops them into a pile on the stairs. 

Thranduil looks at him hungrily and although he knows he has none of the elvenking's ethereal beauty, those intense blue eyes make him feel desirable. His body is strong and lean and it has been long since it was given to anything but utility. It longs to be used for pleasure.

He climbs astride Thranduil again and revels in the feel of skin to skin in those places where, despite being mostly clothed, the elvenking is also bare. One of his long arms reaches around to grasp Bard by the neck and pull him down into another deep kiss. His other hand is on his lower back pulling them together.

Bards naked cock presses into Thranduil's stomach and he groans, the pressure tantalizing. He flexes into it, trying to create more friction. Thranduil chuckles low and deep in his chest.

"You need to be properly taken. It has been some time?"

Bard pulls away, gazing intently at Thranduil's face, which is radiant in the low light. "Yes."

Bard wants this, to be taken. He coats his hand with spit and reaches behind him to wet Thranduil's cock. Thranduil's lets out a short hard breath as he is fondled. 

Bard knows this will hurt, but also that it will be worth it. He places the tip of Thranduil's cock against his opening, braces himself and begins to lower himself onto it.

But then suddenly that energy is there again, gentler this time, coursing through Thranduil's hands. It is warm and soothing. There is no pain as Thranduil penetrates him, as though his channel has been oiled and opened. There is only the pleasure of being stretched and entered.

Thranduil moans, his hips rising and falling slowly and deliberately, Bard rising and falling with them. Soon the elvenking's cock is slipping in and out of him in long strokes that would not have been possible without the magic.

Bard throws his head back and abandons himself to it, riding Thranduil at a hard gallop. Thranduil's flawless face is contorted in pleasure. Bard watches him for a moment, so taken that he does not realize someone else is in the room until Thranduil pulls him down so that he can peer over his shoulder.

Bard hears a noise behind them at the bottom of the steps and startles. He turns and can see Legolas standing on the dias below the throne, looking thoroughly scandalized.

Bard is mortified and squirms on Thranduil's lap but the elvenking holds him in place with an iron grip. He arches an eyebrow at his son and says, "I am occupied, my Leaf. Return later." He looks at Bard for a moment and then says "Much later."

His pelvis tilts slightly, pushing his cock deeper into Bard and then without looking back again, finishes with, "Tomorrow perhaps."

Bard twists around again to see Legolas walk hurriedly out of the room. Thranduil seems entirely unbothered and simply resumes fucking him. Still embarrassed, Bard thinks that great age must have left Thranduil with no shame.

And then one of Thranduil's thrusts hits a place inside him that fills him with fire and he gasps, forgetting his earlier concern and gripping the elvenking's shoulders. He surrenders again to the rhythm of their coupling. It has grown fierce, Thranduil's magic somehow still making it all pleasure and no pain despite how hard Bard slams himself down onto his cock.

Bard is crying out now, his whole body alight with sensation. His vision blurs and Thranduil's arms wind around him pulling them flush against one another. He is still moving up and down, his body pulsing open and closed around the elvenking's manhood. 

Something is fluttering in his belly. His cock is rubbing against Thranduil's skin. He wants to hold back, last longer, but Thranduil is embracing him so tightly and will not let him pull away. The elf is rocking into him and he is full of his cock and it is everything he has wanted since they were together under the mountain. 

Like last time, he cannot resist it. He splinters apart and roars his climax into Thranduil's hair. Thranduil pushes up into him one last time and then he too is coming, the throbbing of his orgasm prolonging Bard's until he is shaking and wrung.

A few moments later they are both taking long shuddering breaths as the last spasms die away. Thranduil lets him collapse into his arms. After a few moments pass, he strokes Bard's hair away from his face and says quietly, "Have I hurt you?"

Bard takes stock and answers honestly, "No. Your magic made it painless."

Thranduil smiles. "My healing rises so easily for you...along with other things." His smile deepens with mirth. "I am glad it kept you unharmed. It means I can take you to my chambers to bathe and dine and then we can do this again. If you are agreeable to that."

Bard smiles back and nods, yes. He rises from Thranduil's lap and leans down to kiss this ancient, curious creature who has claimed him and set him free at the same time. 

"Please," is all he says. Thranduil tips his head back and laughs, and it is lighthearted and surprising and Bard thinks for a moment that perhaps this thing between them has freed him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to use this kink meme prompt for ages and figured this fic could use some lightening up, so I threw in a variation on it for fun:
> 
> _So Gandalf/Thorin (or whoever) bursts in to the throne room (or tent) to give Thranduil a piece of their mind, only to find he is very much occupied._
> 
> _Bard is sat in the throne while Thranduil rides him._
> 
> _How they react is up to you, but I imagine Bard is ready to die of embarrassment while Thranduil just sort of arches an eyebrow and says "we are occupied"._

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing from the Hobbit and make no money from this. Comments welcomed and appreciated.


End file.
